


The beginning of their story

by erinlightwoodbane



Series: How Lafayette came to be [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: A Lot Of Them Actually, Gen, I'm not saying Lafayette is the best but they are, Lafayette has been adopted by the Washington's, Lafayette modern au, Lafayette needs a hug, non binary lafayette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6469339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erinlightwoodbane/pseuds/erinlightwoodbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lafayette's childhood right up until they're adopted by the Washington's</p>
            </blockquote>





	The beginning of their story

**Author's Note:**

> This is the start of a series of Lafayette's life simply because I like them to be the center of attention.

Lafayette was six years old when their mother died. 

They remember the weeks leading up to her death distinctly well, as if it had happened the day before, not a decade ago. 

They had loved her, yet few of the memories they had were fond; to Lafayette they had only knew her as the ill woman crying on a hospital bed as Lafayette read their favourite books to her, head bowed as she threw up into a bucket. She is weak and frail and gasping for breath as her bony hands grasp at the blankets by her side, her eyes tearful and wide with pain as she coughs, thin figure curling in on itself.

The week before she dies though, then she is their mother, and in that week, they spend more time at her side than anywhere else. Their father carries them away each night to stay by his wife’s bedside, and his eyes are impossibly sad as he grasps her hand and she smiles weakly at him in return, as if everything will be okay.

It's not.

Before that though, the only people around near are doctors and Lafayette spends most of the days outside with Andrẻ, making small flower bracelets with the daisies as they lie in the grass by Lafayette’s house. Even then, they are smiling and blissfully unaware of their mother’s rapidly deteriorating health until they hear the visiting medical staff whispering death to one another.

Lafayette is 6 years old and naive and has never heard of the word before.

It’s also that same day that their father brings them back into the house, and as they wave a regretful goodbye to John they cannot help but wonder about what the word means and why their father looks as if he’s cried.

“Bonjour, mon amour.” She whispers when she sees them, voice low and raspy, face breaking into a smile which looks more of a grimace. Her face is flushed and there is a light sheen of sweat covering her face as she talks.

It scares them more than it should; seeing this woman lying in her bed exhausted and only half conscious.

“Bonjour, maman.” They reply quietly and it’s worth standing idly by her bedside as her bony hands tug gently on their wild curls to see the way her face lights up.

They do not ask what death means because they find themselves not wanting to ruin whatever moment they seem to be having, instead watching carefully as their mother hummed, voice cracking slightly.

“Come sit by me,” She says and Lafayette obliges, pulling the yellow sun dress above their knees as they clamber over her skeleton like figure to rest at her side. Their mother strokes their cheek, fingers brushing over sharp cheekbones and their smooth skin which is as dark as coffee, and incidentally, their favourite thing about themself.

“I must leave soon, mon chẻri, I will not be able to return but you will have your father . Though you won’t see me, you’ll be able to see him.” She says gently, face paling at the effort of speaking.

Lafayette frowns, “Why aren’t we going with you?”

“It is a place only I can go for now, my spirit is weak and so it will be put to rest amongst the stars.”

“Why can’t I go?” They ask, more than a little distraught.

“You will some day. You’ll grow up to be the beautiful girl you’re destined to me and you’ll find a nice boy. Perhaps John Andrẻ from next door?” She suggests, and Lafayette does not know at that moment but their mother is trying to distract not only herself but Lafayette from what is coming.

It works though, and Lafayette scrunches their nose up playfully, “I don’t think so. But he did say he would paint my nails yellow next time I see him.” They say happily, eyes brightening and reveling in the attention as their mother laughs.

“Let me hold you.” She says and shifts her body towards Lafayette, muscles straining at the effort and though her jaw clenches, she is still smiling.

It doesn’t help with the fear though, because their mother is small and frail and her bones stick out sharply, jutting out against her skin. They are still a little afraid as their mother winds an arm around their narrow shoulders and her clammy skin sticks against their own cool figure uncomfortably. 

“Would you like to know how I met your father?” She asks and Lafayette beams, clapping their hands together in delight.

They nod enthusiastically and listen with rapt attention until they fall asleep, and their mother’s hand is still wrapped around their corkscrew hair even as they rest, dark eyes closed and small body still until their father arrives to carry them back to their bedroom.

Their father never did tell them why he was crying that night.  
\----------------------  
Everyday they visit her, often clamouring back into her lap but eventually she is too sick to hold them so they merely sit by her side, quiet and attentive as she talks. Each day, her stories become shorter and shorter until eventually she just stops speaking.

That’s the last time they ever see her.

They’ve been rushed out from the old building, sent to play in the garden, but they become restless quickly and venture back inside hesitantly. The hallways are quiet and their bare feet are the only sound to be heard until they reach their mother’s room.

The room is cold, the fans spinning but even then their mother’s body is hot and feverish, drenched in sweat. She lies in a simple white nightgown, hand clasped tightly between her husband’s.

They stand in the doorway, uncertain and wary until their mother spots them.

She smiles slightly, and her eyes are tired but no less kind than they have always been. She is still smiling by the time they reach her bed and by the time her hand has reached up to cup their face, the smile has frozen in place and her eyes are glassy as her hand falls back down to her side, completely still.

It is the first time they have witnessed a death but it will certainly not be the last.  
\---------------------------  
They start dancing soon after that, an effort made by their father to distract them, and, despite their initial hesitance, they soon become enraptured.

By the time they are 8, they have already made a name for themselves; national junior champion in the region and they can think of little else they enjoy more.

They dance together with John and more times rather than not, they listen patiently through the cooing which is almost always accompanied when they walk into a room hand or hand or when they share their bottles of water. 

It becomes a bit of an annoyance at times but John is their best friend, and they do everything together.

And, unsurprisingly, they are with John before it happens, walking home together and discussing their favourite colour flowers; John likes the blue ones and Lafayette likes them all as long as they can wear them in their hair.

They both separate with a swift kiss on each cheek and Lafayette laughs as a butterfly lands on a wall near John, causing the boy to startle.

They walk up the driveway with a spring in their step, singing softly as they let themselves in through the front door.

The dance studio is only a two minutes walk from their house and their father trusts them enough to allow them to walk home with Andrẻ so the silence doesn’t truly bother them till they call out as they’re pulling their shoes off, tossing their bag to the side.

There’s no answer but Lafayette resiliently makes their way through all the downstairs bedrooms, checking inside the closets just in case.

There is still no reply and they are frowning now as they climb the stairs,a feeling stirring in their chest that they can’t quite understand but it’s enough to make them uneasy.

“Pẻre?” They call hesitantly, voice echoing against the bare walls. 

They are 8 years old when they come home from a dance class and find their father hanging from the ceiling fan.  
\----------------------------  
They are 9 year old when their uncle sells them to an American sex cartel and ships them overseas. 

They don’t remember it particularly well, only remember arriving at their uncle’s house after their father’s funeral to be greeted by two large white men, both at least 6 foot, coiled with harsh muscle and only able to speak English.

At the time, Lafayette knew shit all of.

They only recall the two adults shouting at their uncle, and then at them before they had tried to hit the two men. For obvious reasons, it didn’t work.

Lafayette was small and remarkably delicate looking, graceful and already on their way to becoming a heart breaker, they were beautiful and as the lights suddenly went out, they couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps they hadn’t been so pretty at such a young age, they could have avoided it.

Lafayette doesn’t remember much after that; only the occasional flashes of a dirty cramped room as they’re fucked and beaten into oblivion, time and pain blurring together for what was probably months but felt like years.

Their mind doesn’t clear even the slightest until they reach New York, a city which is new and terrifying and with everything going on all they seem able to do is cry.

The building which they are forced into is filled mostly with rubble, blankets spread across the concrete floor and the rooms stinking of smoke and blood and sex.

It doesn’t get easier from there, between struggling to learn even the simplest English phrases, they have to remember all the rules, all the different times they’re meant to be in different rooms with different people, who they’re meant to speak to and who not to speak too, not much makes any sense to them.

It’s a complete hell hole but by the time they’re 14 they can hardly remember France, can’t remember anything outside of the place they’re stuck in. 

Their English is bad at best but they’re the youngest there so for some reason which Lafayette can’t fathom, the older kids make a pact of protecting them. 

Because like them ,they’re all beaten and they’re all a little broken and a lot of them seem to have given up completely, but that doesn’t stop them from protecting each other.

George King is 18 and arrives at Lafayette’s room one night in a whirl of vague annoyance and loudness and muscle and Lafayette finds themselves more than a little terrified. It soon disappears though because then he is sitting by Lafayette’s side and bandaging their wounds and not minding in the slightest when Lafayette breaks down, crying into his chest because the week had just been so bad.

It doesn’t really get better after that but between the brutal thrusts and the cuts and the beatings, Lafayette has someone there to help them and they haven’t that comfort in years.

And then, because apparently the universe disagrees with Lafayette being even a slight margin happier, the very same George King who looked after them as if they were his own brother, dies.

It’s sudden and unexpected but not entirely surprising. 

Compared to others, it hadn’t been quite so bad for George but then suddenly he’d said something which had the owner screaming and yelling and he’d been dragged into the basement and then the only thing anyone could hear that night were his screams.

They’re sitting by the door, head resting against the cold concrete when the door opens again. Lafayette is bloody and after one of the older ‘customers’ had gotten tired of slapping them around for over an hour, a coma is sounding like a rather brilliant option.

But then that door opens and the owner steps out, eyes wild and breathing harsh and covered in blood that isn’t his own. 

Lafayette runs for the door as soon as he is out of sight and though he stifles a cry at the pain which nearly knocked them off their feet, they continue running down the dismantled stairs until they are at George’s side.

They entered the room with shaking hands and buckling knees, having to steady themselves on the wall as they fought the wave of sickness which rose with the scent of blood. 

George’s blood. 

They had sat with him and kissed his face because his mother was not there to do so. They had whispered to him softly in French, singing under their breath but they didn’t cry because if they cried that would mean accepting that George was gone and that would mean Lafayette was alone again.

But George King had said goodbye and as he rested one stiff hand against Lafayette’s cheek, he had told them how proud he was to know them, how lucky he was and told them that everything was going to be okay and that they’d be fine. 

They had shaken their head, curls escaping their messy bun because how were they supposed to be fine?

They had screamed then, yelling and sobbing so loudly someone had to sedate them, and they had cried before the terrifying lapse of darkness.  
\-------------------------------  
It took another year before they got out- another year of abuse and rape and another hundred things they’d rather not think about.

In the end someone had poisoned the owner, had slipped something into his drink so that he’d choked on his own bile before he died. It had been slow and undoubtedly painful. 

And if that hadn’t been exactly what Lafayette intended? 

It had been a slow process considering most had difficulty walking, let alone standing but the fear was enough to help them move. 

They didn’t say goodbye, only walked further into the dark streets of New York, walking until their legs finally gave up and they collapsed against a wall near some sort of College. They were an hour away but that somehow didn’t seem like enough.

Despite the fact that it couldn’t have been more than three in the morning, there were footsteps growing closer and maybe the fact that Lafayette found it hard to be even more scared than they had been was a sign that something was really messed up.

They don’t know what day it is but they haven’t known the date in years but it’s dark and the ground is cold and uncomfortable and they can’t actually remember where they’ve walked to. 

When bright lights stop near them, they think nothing of it but then somebody is walking towards them, tall and muscular and Lafayette would scream except the light hurts their eyes and when their head finally stops pounding, they collapse sidewards into the snow. 

The man’s face is the last thing they see before everything turns blessedly black.  
\------------------------  
Lafayette felt strangely calm when they woke up, vision blurry and noise muffled by the ringing in their ears. 

They opened their mouth to ask where they were, or perhaps just to yell, but half of the words came out in quick, slurred French and the rest of the question drowned out by the ache in their temple.

Their eyelids felt heavy but they could just make out a figure sitting by their bedside and a few other people pacing the room judging by the footsteps they could hear.

After a few moments, the sound faded until there was only silence, the man sitting with a pile of paper in his hand, writing quickly and apparently unaware that Lafayette was conscious.

They took the time just to watch him, eyes open and curious. He was at least 6 foot 4, and coiled with the kind of muscle and severeness that showed he probably had spent some time in the military. His eyebrows were dark and bushy and though his features were rather intimidating, he was incredibly handsome and the worry in his eyes made it a little easier to relax.

That still didn’t answer the question as to who he was but then he turned his head and was looking straight at them.

He looked surprised to see them awake but smiled all the same, his voice soft “So you’re awake.” He noted, looking them over, concern evident over his face.

Lafayette nodded, feeling surprisingly at ease with the man, “I hope so, otherwise this is a very strange dream.” They replied, accent nearly blocking out the English. 

“Do you know where you are?” He asked after laughing at their previous statement.

“Hospital?” They guessed, not all that bothered as long as they were out of that place.

“You’re in the pediatrics ward, you’ve been unconscious for 12 days but you’ll be up again in no time.” He says with a kind smile.

Lafayette frowns, “I don’t know that word.” They admit, unable to stop themselves feeling embarrassed about their butchered English.

“It’s a special ward for children.” He explains patiently and Lafayette nods in acknowledgement before repeating the word in French.

There is something so calming about the man, something so familiar that Lafayette doesn't so much as blink when he moves to put a supportive hand on their leg. 

"I was here when I was a child to get my tonsils removed. Of course, we're in very different circumstances but I was safe here and so are you." 

Lafayette nodded, "And I am, am I not-"

"You're barely a teenager. You're safe here and soon you'll be to leave the hospital but you'll be on strict bed rest for the next days." 

They frowned at the man, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, "I don't have a bed." They stated and watched carefully as the man visibly softened. 

"That's why I'm here. My name is George Washington and my wife and I have been fostering children for a long time. We've never permanently adopted before but we were hoping, for your comfort and ours, you could come stay with us. If you don't like it you don't have to stay but..."

Lafayette blinked in surprise. They hadn't even thought of what would happen next and perhaps they should be more wary of this Washington they only met consciously that day and yet they felt safe with him, protected.

They hadn't felt safe since they were a child and now there was a chance that maybe they could have a family...

"That would be very nice Monsieur." They say eventually and try not to make it to obvious that they're near tears.

"Have you made the poor darling cry all ready George?" A voice asked and Lafayette turned around to see a woman leaning against the doorframe, beaming at them. 

She would probably be considered small but even then she was still a few inches taller than Laf, her features soft and gentle.

“You’re always welcome with us.” She said, smiling warmly and walking over to kiss them on the cheek as they relaxed under her touch. 

Seeing the hesitation and worry fading from their dark eyes, she leaned over and pulled Lafayette into a hug and Lafayette did start crying then, revelling in the comfort they had missed so much.

She tightened her grip on them, murmuring softly and running a hand through their wild curls as if they were her own child. 

George sat watching the pair and wondered how it was possible to feel so much affection to the teenager they’d only just met properly. He and Martha had sat at their bedside each day and the two times they had woke up, they were hardly lucid and fell back unconscious after a while.

“Let’s get you home, huh?”

A family was made.


End file.
